


Aeneas Revisited

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Gen, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because every fandom needs a Regency!AU</p><p>Belladonna Baggins is quite content with her life in the country, thank you very much. She certainly doesn't need old acquaintances interfering with her social circle. She's certain Mr. Oakenshield doesn't appreciate this meddling, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aeneas Revisited

The balmy month of July had passed, and with mid-August came the beginning of hunting season and the return of the gentry from London and the excitement of the Season. Not that the social calendar was ever of any great interest to Belladonna Baggins. She hadn’t been to London since her father’s death a decade ago, and she had no desire to change her ways now. She hardly missed the bustle and excitement of the city, the whirlwind schedule of balls and social calls, the thrill of stepping out onto the dance floor… No, country life suited her just fine. She was perfectly content to pass her days at her beloved Bag End, working through and adding to her father’s extensive library and dining with local families. Besides, should she decide to wander the neighboring fields and woods for the better part of the day, local gossips would be more inclined to tut over the eccentricities that had left her a spinster than decry her impropriety.

Well, her dear cousins would no doubt decry her impropriety, but then they viewed everything she did as worthy of criticism and her continued existence as a personal affront. Standing between somebody and an inheritance could do that.

Unfortunately for Belladonna, the end of the Season meant the return of the Sackville-Bagginses to Hobbiton and, in turn, their customary call at Bag End. Belladonna was certain that, when she was younger, the call was intended exclusively to reassure themselves that she hadn’t had the nerve to marry in secret while they were away. Now that she was, at 31 years of age, firmly on the shelf, she suspected they continued to call on her so that they could take stock of the state of the property and everything they wished to change once they inevitably inherited. On more than one occasion she contemplated intentionally allowing Bag End to fall into disrepair, if only to spite her vile relatives.

Alas, however much the idea appealed to her baser desires, she could not bring herself to let any harm befall the home her father had especially built for her mother.

While her fate might be to continue smiling and playing the good hostess whensoever her relatives chose to call, Belladonna didn’t feel up to the task at the moment - hadn’t for the past week, in fact. Thus, she had taken to long country walks so as not to be home when the Sackville-Bagginses arrived without notice. Her steward had even taking to waving her off before she could apologize for, once again, leaving him at the mercy of her cousins’ sharp tongues.

She was on just such a walk now. It was a clear day, the ideal weather for wandering aimlessly outdoors. She had spent the better part of the morning exploring old ruins that had been a favorite haunt in her childhood. Oh, what the old gossips would say if they could see her now! Her dress was one she had pilfered from her lady’s maid for just such occasions, and her hair had long since begun working its way out of its pins. Surely the old hens would remind her that such a disregard for her image was unbefitting of the daughter of a gentleman, that such nonchalance was the reason she was now without a family to call her own.

Belladonna never corrected them that it was the local men’s insistence that she would feel no need for such exploration after their marriage that had led to her rejecting their suits before they could truly begin. If her mother could choose to not compromise her “wild ways” and still find happiness, than so could she.

Now, book in hand, Belladonna tromped through the woods, following an unmarked path that she’d memorized long ago. Just up ahead was a pleasant creek with a rocky outcropping, a perfectly deserted spot to settle down to read and not be disturbed.

Only, she discovered as she rounded a hill, her spot was not deserted. An old man, dressed in worn travel clothing, was lounging on her rock, puffing contentedly at a pipe. So startled was she by this invasion of her private domain that it took the man speaking for her to recognize who it was.

“Belladonna Baggins,” the old man greeted, coming slowly to his feet. “It’s been entirely too long. When your steward told me you were out, I did suspect I would find you here.”

“Sir Gandalf,” she replied with a slight curtsey. “What a pleasure to see you again.” And it was a pleasure. Sir Gandalf was an old friend of her mother’s family, having served with her Uncle Isumbras in the American War of Independence. He had visited often when she was a small child, and had in fact been the one to show her this very spot. It had been nearly a decade since his last visit, however, when he had come to pay his respects following her mother’s funeral. “May I ask what brings you to Hobbiton after all these years?”

“Does one need a reason to visit old friends?” Sir Gandalf asked with a soft chuckle. One usually does wait for an invitation, she couldn’t help but think, but refrained from saying so out loud. She apparently hadn’t prevented the sentiment from showing on her face, however, because Sir Gandalf burst out laughing. “My dear, you are just as easy to read as your mother - the Took blood in you, I should think. However, I must regretfully admit that your delightful company is not the only thing to bring me to this area. Another old friend has chosen to settle nearby, and it has come to my attention that he has not… Well, he has not _settled_.”

Somebody had moved to the area? Belladonna racked her brain, but try as she might she could not recall news of any nearby houses being let, and she somehow doubted Sir Gandalf’s friend was the new footman Lobelia had hired. Other than that, she could not think of anybody recently arrived to the area, except…

“You mean to tell me you know who has moved into the Lodge?”

A somewhat ramshackled old shooting lodge, “the Lodge”, as the locals ever creatively referred to it, was hardly comparable to some of the nearby great houses. The Lodge, however, was property of the Marquess of Dunland, and now that the young Lord Dunland was of age, the local mothers were always in a tither guessing at whether he would come for the shooting season or if he would bring other eligible young lords with him.

Belladonna found the entire idea laughable, being unable to separate the “dashing” Dunland and his brother from the little hellions who had run rampant in their youth. Not that they were all that more civilized _now_.

When servants of the Marquess had been recognized in town buying food and supplies, the rumor mill had fast gone to work. It had been years since the brothers visited, and everybody was excited by the prospect that they might have returned at last. Alas, it was not to be. The mothers of Hobbiton’s eligible young ladies had been sorely put out when it was discovered the new arrivals were not, in fact, the young lords. Nobody was quite certain who _was_ living at the Lodge, either, as all who had tried to pay a call on Hobbiton’s newest residents had been politely turned away.

“I do, indeed,” Sir Gandalf answered, dragging Belladonna out of her musings. It took her a moment to recall her question, and once she had Sir Gandalf had already resumed speaking. “I have known his family for as many years as your own, if not through the same circles. When I heard he had taken up residence so close to another old friend, it occurred to me that I should make introductions. After all, wallowing in one’s misery in the country is all fine and well, but insisting on cloistering oneself is ridiculous. If he’s forced to interact with somebody new, he’ll have to at least feign a pleasant disposition. And who better to feign cheer with than a personable young lady.”

She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this, and suspected that Sir Gandalf wasn’t necessarily addressing her any longer.  “If you’re suggesting I go with you to call on this friend, Sir Gandalf, I can hardly see how this will achieve anything. I would be surprised if we were allowed past the front door.”

Sir Gandalf smiled genially, as if he were expecting exactly that response. “Ah, but the trick, my dear, is in not allowing them the opportunity to turn you away. Come; if we begin our walk now we will arrive just in time for tea.”

Belladonna gaped at Sir Gandalf in astonishment, which turned into indignant sputtering as he led her by the arm through the woods.

“I cannot go calling on somebody! It’s a Sunday!” she protested.

“I am well aware of the day. Or, is there a reason behind this observation?”

“It is not proper to make social calls on a Sunday! Not unless you’re family…”

“Or a very close friend, which I am.”

“And which I am not!”

Sir Gandalf literally waved off her objection. “Yet you will be in my company.”

“I’ve left my calling cards at home,” Belladonna tried.

“Bella, have you yet heard of somebody receiving a calling card in turn when they ventured to the Lodge? I can assure you, our host cares little for such convention.”

“If ‘such convention’ is to be abandoned, how am I to make a good impression with windswept hair, a house maid’s dress and a hem soaked to the knee?”

Sir Gandalf finally stopped his relentless march to turn and stare at her. He was silent for a long moment, before releasing a long sigh, as if his study had in some way found her wanting. Belladonna had never felt so judged in her life. “You do have a brain, my dear.” Returning his gaze ahead, he let out a small cry of satisfaction. “Ah, almost there!”

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, this is going to get really convolutated REALLY quickly. Why you ask? I'm trying to model this as closely as possible on actual social customs of the Regency era, complete with titles and proper forms of social address. And seeing as none of Thorin's company actually have last names... Gah. I'll try to keep things as clear as possible, but feel free to call me on it if things get too murky.


End file.
